Notes on the Mist
by ph.oliveir2
Summary: A tale of the disappearance of Artaeum and the Psijic Order, in the early centuries of the Second Era. Told through the eyes of neophytes.
1. Voice of our Elders

**Foreword:** Hello! I'm a complete newbie here, have read a few stories but this is my first trial writing fan-fiction. I hope to finish it. I tried to make it as lore-correct as I could, but you never know if you missed something. Also, I'm Brazilian and therefore English isn't my native language, so there could be a few issues with that (I'm writing directly in English, no translation). Let me hear what you think! :)

**Voice of our Elders**

_"In the tides of the sea that surrounds_

_At the terrible sight of the moon_

_In a glory that never knows bounds_

_With our Ancestors' grace carefully strewn_

_Lies the Order; our paragon of Old_

_And the Tower, which power conduits_

_Lie the mysteries richer than gold_

_Elder Ways and most noble pursuits"_ – Silderon the Poet of Alinor, 2E180

Such was written in the book that the young man carefully examined that day, in his commonly-occurring thirst for any new poetry he could get his hands on. His body was firmly planted in that particular, almost unattended corner of the keep, nevertheless close to the path most neophytes took to the exposition halls just in front.

Amidst his gray cotton robes and the many rings in both his hands, one could barely see the delicate inscription sewn in golden thread at the sleeve-end: Alayon. That, and his whole attire, if we are to comment on it, were the most precious material possessions the young man had to his name; all of them confined to this keep and the island in general. Nothing could compare to his mental treasures, however: the taste for poetry, the insatiable curiosity – as befitted a man in his path of life – and the memories that had tied his life to that place so far.

"Master Uccaen is coming soon, Alayon! You wouldn't want to be late for this."

"Calm down Casslon," said him, slowly closing and returning the book to a wooden shelf. "I'm coming already. Did I mention today how lucky am I to have you warn me of our schedules?"

"We haven't met today, until now", said Casslon with a semblance of a witty smile, which was all but betrayed by his eyes, always restless, jolted with life.

Alayon and Casslon had been friends for a while now, ever since the latter was broken out of the keep's pantry by the former, two months ago. Casslon had discovered the hard way that the older members of the Order, even the ones assigned to the most mundane chores, knew how to work a trap as well as casting the most basic spells – which means, pretty well. Alayon was in the middle of his fairly common nightly walk around the bottom floors of the building when he heard Casslon's whispers for help, and decided to liberate his partner in studies because after all, he, too, did not enjoy the strict supper regime the aspirants had to suffer through.

* * *

They kept a steady pace while discussing the most various things: how was the weather promising to be, did the orchards nearby produce good fruit this week, little hints on how to make your torso muscles tense during meditation. They walked oblivious through the towering columns of Taheritae's Keep, surrounding a cloister where a small natural waterfall dissolved into a still pond, breathing water mist into the arcades. The stone walls seemed as if alive, closely integrated with the view one had when looking at it from afar: a steep hill, covered in spruce trees in all but its very peak, sided on half of its base-length with three layers of buildings. The first one was turned into ruin, betraying its astounding longevity, and the subsequent buildings by the Order gave the impression of merging into the hill and not merely standing still on the ancient stones; indeed, it was as if the Keep had been carved straight into the natural rock.

"Ah! So for once you two decide to arrive in time", proclaimed a fierce voice from beyond the massive portal as the two youngsters made a turn right past the arcades. The high ceiling in the rock-hewn structure, and the circular room, seemed to serve a purpose on its own: namely, to astonish the neophytes and give the impression of majesty, which made them instinctively more reverent of their masters while in the exposition room. Alayon and Casslon quickly recognized the silhouette of Master Uccaen on the far end of the room. The water mist from the nearby cloister made the air here slightly more humid still; light danced downwards from the arc-shaped windows perched high on the immense walls.

"Make haste young men, we have important things to go over today", said Uccaen while scanning the room. Around twenty youngsters, mostly Altmeri with a minority of Bretons, in all kinds of colourful robes and hoods, gathered in the room in anxious silence that was so typical of those special classes, as you may call them. Today was the first reunion after the Oath, and these initiates were to be made more familiar with the Order by having the first exposition with Grandmaster Iachesis himself, the chief authority in Artaeum, whose power and influence knew no boundaries even into the palaces of Tamriel and the Summerset Isles.

* * *

"The Grandmaster is here", said a voice close to the portal. As Uccaen lifted his eyes and the students turned their backs nearly synchronically, two impressively tall Altmeri in master robes approached the group. Behind them came a less impressive figure, older, shorter, bulkier yet with amazing presence. His eyes were piercing, advanced age slightly showing, and his face had the semblance of stone, with a strong jaw and not showing any emotion as they passed slowly through the initiates, and seemed to observe carefully each one of them.

After that slow review of the troops and a discreet bow to acknowledge the presence of Uccaen, the elder man took hold of a long staff given to him by one of his companions. Supporting part of his body weight smoothly upon it, he began the exposition with tranquil voice.

"Greetings, Neophytes. It is a most exciting feeling to see you here because it makes an elder think of the long ways we traversed, the trials and rewards many of us bore, and the centuries since we broke off from society at large. All of those things carry the weight of fate upon themselves, and carefully set many other things in motion. Keep that in mind, since all of it conspired to bring you here, at this particular time. But allow me to introduce myself. I am Grandmaster Iachesis, and I bid you an official welcome to Artaeum, now as proper initiates of our Psijic Order, and keepers of the Old Ways."

"Hear, hear!" could be listened among the anxious yet low-volume clapping that ensued. Alayon looked at Casslon, who watched Iachesis with an inquiring gaze shortly before answering the look, with eyes that spelt effusiveness and the strongest will to get going with all of that. Alayon himself was puzzled and excited as well; maybe the Grandmaster's presence induced that kind of special feel, after all he was a very powerful person.

"I would like to extend my gratitude to Uccaen as well, for all his work in giving you the introductory school and the most basic information on our Order and its beliefs", said Iachesis, and while he didn't look at Uccaen, the teaching master thankfully bowed his head for the recognition. "Now, I wish you to indulge me by trying to answer some things… all of which you should know by now."

Low buzzing began among the neophytes.

* * *

"Silence! Could anyone explain to me, in short if you so wish, what are the Old Ways?"

And everyone was quiet. Sure, it was a concept at the core of everything in the Psijic Order, it was its raison d'être, so Uccaen had taken care to hammer it in everyone's minds by then. However to talk about such profound things with the Grandmaster _himself_… it just felt different.

"I can", Alayon was startled to hear the voice by his side say. Casslon was quick to rise and attract the attention of all in the semicircle. "There is a spiritual world, another plane, existing in parallel with the world of our senses. Those unaware of it can only look at the world and marvel in ignorance, for the most important dealings take place in this spiritual world. The Old Ways teach that our communication channel with this world is the spirit of our ancestors, who have achieved a higher level of power, and such became knowing of the inner workings of that other dimension. It is about contacting the true gods, the Aldmeri ancestors."

"Contacting all ancestors, young man!" Iachesis burst, not in an angry way, but paternalistic. "Surely you read Taheritae, who spoke about the Aldmer, yet in those times all we knew was our own kind, and the Order was completely made of our race… yet time and wisdom made us realize this spiritual strength lies in ancestor spirits of mer and man alike", he corrected calmly. "Nonetheless, a short and mostly accurate presentation; you have my thanks for standing up."

Casslon was satisfied as he sat once more, throwing Alayon a classic "Did you watch?" look. Alayon was torn between analyzing Casslon's self-righteous face and noticing that the few Breton neophytes present slightly changed their postures, chests and head slightly upwards after Iachesis' intervention.

* * *

"Very well, now, before I even ask this next question, you should know that all knowledge comes in due time. With your current wisdom, however, you could at least give me an idea of what is the great and honored so-called School of Mysticism?"

The buzzing started once more, for while the anxiety of the first question wore off, the School of Mysticism was a tough subject even within the Order, if the ancient writings were to be believed. While it dealt with powers that were very much real and palpable, the energy used was very mysterious in its character. Alayon and Casslon sat straight; their interest in experiments with Mysticism was another thing that bonded the two.

Another student rose. "Master, I admit to know little. But Mysticism seems to be one practical aspect of the Old Ways. A lot has been said about it in the world outside the Order. By that I mean… the manifestations we can observe arise from manipulating the energy of the spiritual plane. Would it be a call to the ancestors and then depending on their actions? I think it's hard to say the magicka user has no agency in something he does, let alone a working as powerful as telekinesis, for example. This dependance on the energies of spirits could be a form of necro…"

"Young one, all in due time! It is not wise to think aloud without sound basis or evidence, especially if you are surrounded by curious minds… like here and now." Iachesis pondered for a second. "It was an useful explanation, and you have my thanks. However it is not the point." Silence filled the room.

* * *

"So far you have been filled with the knowledge of our ancients, with the unavoidable pre-concepts we carry from our life outside Artaeum, with the seductive riches of literature and lore. The Order presents to you a different worldview, and ultimately a different world altogether. We need you to let go of what you held as absolute truth before. In fact, we need you not to believe in an undisputed truth, but on the power and sway of Change, which affects from the tiniest Luna Moth to the towering peaks of Oblivion." One could hear a Luna Moth flying around as Iachesis' voice and words enraptured the group.

"Change is driven by mystery as much as it's driven by action. I, and the Order as a whole, expect you to maintain the curiosity that brought you this far. For it is your main tool to unravel mystery, find a course of action, and bring Change upon the Universe. I am satisfied with your group", and then his eyes scanned the neophytes once again as they did in his arrival. They rested for half a second more upon Alayon, in the back; giving the youngster a shiver of some intensity.

In that moment of self-searching catalyzed by Iachesis' words, Alayon recalled his own story as being unusual, and it wasn't the first time he saw the Grandmaster. Even at that time, sitting like any other neophyte in the bright vast room, something told him that his task had something more to it.


	2. Running Home

**Foreword**: Got carried away in wrote this in five hours. Something of a backstory! Same disclaimers apply, and of course, please tell me what you think!

* * *

**Running Home**

White fog crept slowly over the campsite. The sky had turned rosy, betraying the imminent sunrise. The clearance was so small that two tents and a fire pit were enough to fill it. Inside one of them, an adult mage slept heavily and on the other, a young Altmer was reading. The poetry book had been a gift from his father, even though they never met – the army campaigns around Moridunon prevented that from happening. It was a form of escapism; he could lose himself in the words and tales of another time and place, and keep from thinking too much about what was happening; what he was leaving behind.

It started before his birth. In the centuries after the War of the Uvichil, chaos had taken place in the countryside of Moridunon. The Sload, beastly invaders from a neighboring archipelago, tried once again to subjugate the island at the dusk of the First Era, and their savage ambition had driven them to almost total destruction, in the vitriolic counter-attacks and massacres the Altmeri commanders ordered upon the Sload homeland. Most were left for dead; it was a time to rebuild what had been lost in the strife. It wasn't long – approximately thirty years – before the Sload could regroup, and these small remnants of that race were still conducting small-scale strikes along the Moridunian coast. The rulers of cities had too much on their hands inside the walls, and so the villages were mostly left to their own devices.

At that time, the youngster's family had to move to Skywatch, partially because of the father's work in the military, but also as an artifice to escape the violence of the village. Soon his father was called to drive off some Sload invasions in the eastern coast, but sooner still his mother was pregnant with him. His father never came back; the only memories the boy had of him was his poetry book. Decades passed, the boy grew up in the slow, almost contemplative lifespan of an Altmer – which can reach the high hundreds or even thousands of years. The Sload fortified; when they arrived at the gates of Skywatch once more, fire descended upon the city. It was but only a raid-and-pillage, but the walls had been breached and, for a moment, chaos was installed in the city.

The boy had been in the Temple District, and while rushing his way back home, he saw the fire blocking the path – his neighborhood had been invaded. Alone and presuming his family was dead or fleeing, he tried to escape the city, and could only do so after meeting him: Velarien, one of the mages visiting the city, knew of a subterranean way going out of the Temple itself. He took hold of the boy and they made their way out of a Skywatch that tried to hold back the invaders.

* * *

"Alayon! Good, you're already up. We should pack things and head in the direction of your village now. May the Ancestors guide us to your family even before that."

That happened one week ago, and the two of them found themselves in a forest in the southern half of the island. The mage had grown into a friend. He appreciated Alayon's taste for poetry, and wondered at his intelligence. Velarien had told him that his home was an island to the south, where mages could live and experiment freely. Although Alayon had been interested in magicka from a tender age, he did not find himself up to the task of really studying it. Now they were going to find what became of Alayon's family, and he couldn't be happier to at least go back to their old village, for the first time in his life.

Off they went in the trails of the forest. At the foot of a hill both had to rearrange the equipment Velarien managed to get from an inn at the roadside. In those minutes, it happened. It was as swift as the attack on Skywatch, when Alayon heard the bestial grunts and found a Sload patrol coming closer, as if they had already sniffed enemy presence there. He was quick to warn Velarien, who told him to hide while he himself would try to scout the area, find out just how many were coming. He waited for probably just one minute, and soon a startled Velarien appeared once again beyond the trees.

"Too many of them, Alayon! Not just a patrol!" He was rushing out of the trees as the Sload footsteps and grunts were louder; it was time to run. Alayon started to burst in the opposite direction when he saw for the first time: Velarien's staff, a tall oak stick ornate with the most beautiful blue gem, was lifted out of his rucksack in the ground, floating, and like a bullet ended up in the mage's hand, almost hitting his face in the process.

"You will go first, Alayon. I have to take care of this, and we will meet shortly. For now you must run, and if you are lost, seek Artaeum – it is the name of my homeland, and where you can find safe haven for a while, until I rejoin you."

Confusion was all that went through Alayon's mind. He was to bolt through the woods alone? Velarien, shrouded in all the mystery and power a mage has, was his first and last lines of defence; for the world he could have lived many years, but at the height of 70 years old, he was but a teenager among the Altmer, and had not seen much, nor had the ways to defend himself.

"You HAVE to go, NOW!" were Velarien's words as he charged a spell and his staff began glowing under the rays of the sun. The first Sload could be seen in the trees to the north. Alayon ran.

He ran as fast as he could, thoughts rushing through his head at an even higher speed than his feet on the ground. War had taken everything from him until now: his father, the rest of his family who was still disappeared, and now he had to leave Velarien behind. He trusted the power of his mage friend wasn't a common one, particularly when seeing the way he could manipulate physical things like his staff. He had trust Velarien would survive the battle. Yet he angered, for the Sload, for his situation, for the complete cluelessness on what to do next.

He ran, he stumbled, fell down, got up again and tried to run even harder. He was only a teenager with no real place to go, since now the fear of seeing the old village burned had settled into his mind. In the middle of steps and thoughts, one name came to mind: Artaeum. Surely there would be something there, some safe place where he could think straight? It couldn't have been far, the forest grew sparse as he went southwards, at first involuntarily but later, in the desire of finding _something_, whatever it could be. A fisherman's cabin, a campfire… everything would be good… the forest was coming to rest in a smooth plain, and he could only walk a bit faster… sunset approached… soon the body's weakness would take over, and after his last steps, he lost conscience a few feet away from the warm, glistening sand of the coast.

* * *

"_How does the Psijic Order choose its members? It would be folly to say: common minds cannot comprehend. However the touch of the holy ancestor spirits lies in every one of us; that, and many other characteristics. In a spiritual sense, we, by the grace of the ancestors, tend to know where our future lies since the dawn of our life itself; if you were to translate it into a physical, mundane ability, well: it would be like the talent of always finding your way home."_ – Grandmaster Iachesis, "Conversations in the Tower", 1E2840

* * *

His eyes were open at last. Open, yet heavy, as if wanting to return to slumber. A very peculiar, neat as if polished, wooden roof was above. After a few minutes, there came a firm voice from his right side.

"Finally. We were wondering whether you would just sleep there." Alayon turned his head slowly and saw for the first time that tall, old elf with gray hooded robes, sitting down as if he was taking care of him the whole time.

"Before the usual questions arise," he started saying. "You were rescued by fishermen, yet they were quite far from home. At the time they saw you, this island was visible on the horizon. What sort of luck! They brought you into our bay and a few hours ago I was called, to make up some kind of medicine which I had to administer forcefully into your limp body. It seems to have worked", he smiled. "Soon you will be able to leave Artaeum back to your own path."

"Artaeum?" Alayon looked excited and somehow found strength to sit on the bed. "Maybe… I don't know, but I had a mind to come exactly here."

"What? Judging by your clothes you're just a common teenager… how could you have heard of Artaeum and wanted to come?"

"I was with Velarien, he should be here."

"How do you even _know_ Velarien?..."

Slowly recovering with each sentence, Alayon spent the next minutes telling the story since they left Skywatch.

"That is… interesting. Velarien hasn't arrived back, or else I would have known about you. I don't think you can stay for long."

"Sir, I… I need a place to stay for some days. I need to recover, I need a plan, I need to know where can I go safely after here."

The elder looked intrigued, still trying to think of how this youngster and Velarien somehow bonded and what made the Brother even mention the name of Artaeum. "Very well, I will not assure you of anything, but I can state your case. In a few moments I shall be back."

Alayon studied the small cabin, carefully walking once more. It was of a common sort, yet something made it… _clean_. Maybe it was the perfumed air coming from the night outside, maybe it was the polished aspect of everything, as an enormous mural with carefully handcrafted art. It made him feel at ease, and while he analyzed the curious flasks over the cooking pit the door opened; inside came two men, his caretaker and another, a much smaller Bosmer, yet who showed the same signs of age.

"You will be able to stay for some weeks, Alayon. You have an impressive luck. Brother Feriadus needs someone to work with the orchards for the harvest is near… if you want to help, it would be welcome. You can also have this cabin, yet can stay only in this bay. The rest of the island is… exclusive."

"It works for me, sir. Thank you."

"Wonderful news, I will prepare the tools", Feriadus said while leaving the room.

"Well, my work here is done. I will go back to my chambers, and bid you goodnight", said the carekeeper while turning to leave.

"One moment, please. I would like to know your name, should we meet again."

He stood at the door thinking slowly. "It may happen. My name is Uccaen. Now, get some rest."

* * *

Weeks turned to months, turned to years. Alayon showed some ability in the work, and soon he could interpret the cycles of harvest and predict a month's production, an impressive thing considering Artaeum had no regular seasons, instead maintaining eternal springtime. Using the natural magic ability gifted to him for being an Altmer, Alayon gradually learned to nourish fruit with energy alone; after some years he could manipulate the smaller elements of nature, like raising the mist from the bay to water fruit and flower alike. Brother Feriadus also enjoyed his presence, for it was a way to enrich life, talking and sharing things that were on the lighter side of life, away from the issues from within their Order. About this issue, Alayon lived in blissful ignorance: all he knew was that the "group" was extremely old and its secrecy was very serious. Not even Feriadus mentioned anything.

Velarien never came. It was a dent in all the happiness, and which made Alayon feel guilty at times. However Artaeum was feeling like home, not unlike his now lost home in Skywatch. He found peace there, and the plans of sailing back to the Summerset Isles were slowly postponed, and finally forgotten. It was comfortable to walk around the misty ponds in cool mornings, eat the fruit he had helped grow, feel protected by that _something else_ which existed in that magical place. One day he even was able, while in hiding in one of the cliffs surrounding the bay, to watch upon a group of those elder elves and men who came to look upon the orchards. One of those people caught his eye, for he had an undeniable yet unexplainable presence, walking around as if leading the others, carrying a staff of his own. While he was trying to see what kind of features could make that man so startling, it was as if he stared back at the boy for a split second. He instantly got off the cliff and started running to the cabin, to make sure no one could notice him and tell Feriadus he had been sneaking and seeing the people he wasn't supposed to see.

His own presence did not go unnoticed, however. Not only Uccaen and Feriadus knew the youngster was there, helping on the harvests of Artaeum. After around 10 years, in a tower not very far from the bay, Grandmaster Iachesis was finishing a very important talk.

"It is done, then. These adepts will be accepted within Artaeum, and I leave to you the responsibility of giving them basic explanations… trying to lead them in a worthy path."

"It shall be so, Grandmaster. I appreciate the honour very deeply."

"I have another wish, however. Extend the invitations to the young Altmer of the bay, the companion of Velarien."

"To him? With all due respect Sir, the boy is not ready. He shows no drive; he could have even tried to find out more about the greatness we perform on Artaeum daily, about this universe of knowledge… yet throughout these many years he has not set foot outside of the boundaries of the bay."

"Uccaen, my beloved… the boy reached Artaeum in a showing of complete chance, was it not"

"Yes, sir."

"And he has remained in the island all these years… he is good at his craft, passionate, is he not?"

"Yes, sir, but…"

"It is enough to acknowledge that. Moreover, I believe he has a part to play in what could come next. He shows some promise. He isn't here by a twist of fate. And to not overstep the boundaries given to him shows, I believe, a surplus of wisdom, and not a lack of drive. Extend your classes to him, Uccaen, for my sake."

* * *

The next day Uccaen returned to the cabin to find Alayon reading one of Feriadus' books. He was extremely effusive to see the old master once more, yet was shut soon by what he had to say.

"Would you have in your heart the desire to join our Order, young one? We have initiates arriving soon for the due intellectual preparations. It is not assured you would be found worthy, yet it is an opportunity not to be taken lightly; we have spent immense amounts of time without any initiates at all."

"Yes", Alayon said at the same moment. "It would be the greatest honour." For a while the memories of Velarien arose inside his mind: could he manage power and still show that kind of humility? Could he become aware of the mysteries of Nirn and Oblivion alike, and maintain his personality, just like the sympathetic Brother Feriadus? It was to be proven, yet of one thing he was sure, for his sister used to repeat it after her studies at the Temple of Skywatch. Knowledge is Power. He would not pass this up.

All of this came back inside a dream, and when Alayon woke up the sky showed those same signs of imminent sunrise. A knock on the door and a familiar voice proclaimed what he longed to hear after all those years.

"Wake up, neophyte. It is the day of your Oath."

He definitely had come a long way.


End file.
